


“i’m sorry”

by korolevasol



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Pain, Post-Book 1: Chain of Gold, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28249212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korolevasol/pseuds/korolevasol
Summary: matthew gets his marks stripped read on to cry a lot <3
Relationships: Charlotte Branwell/Henry Branwell, Cordelia Carstairs & Matthew Fairchild, Matthew Fairchild & James Herondale, Matthew Fairchild & Lucie Herondale, Tessa Gray/Will Herondale
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	“i’m sorry”

just imagine the way james is going to be frantically helping the others find a way to curve matthew’s sentence. the whole gang knowing the indefinite torture their friend will face but they’ve come to terms with it, through a lot of tears and private talks. but james, no, james who is and always will be matthew’s parabatai, james the leader, james the stern heroic one, he is still the one still in denial over what will come to life within a few short weeks - the suffering his parabatai would face. it won't happen. no. james won’t allow it, he won’t let it take place, because they were parabatai, they were brothers in arms, brothers at heart and soul who would fight for one another, who would lay down their lives for one another..who wouldn’t give up on one another. never.

unfortunately the day would come when the ceremony would take place, the somber atmosphere that descends over the London conclave and the institute. the lingering anguish distress that that day would bring. the chill stares people would give, the distant gazes in the young ones eyes. charlotte’s constant pacing about the institute, the feeling of not knowing what to do with her - what to do to even soothe her child. her child who she loves too much to let go, who means so much that she would give anything to switch places. heartbreak, the only real anything she could hold onto that day. this would go on all morning, like trance - as if someone had taken over her being and told her that the only way to cope was to burn a hole in the carpet or either to occupy her mind - though the only thing she could do was hold onto the memories she had. the faded and blurred images that skipped along her mind, the way the child with a head of beautiful golden locks would joyously race around in the garden screaming to his heart's content as an older brother playfully slowed down his run to allow matthew to run away. no other pain compared to hers besides that of her sons parabatai and her husband.

henry, oh dear henry, henry who was confined to a chair, the feeling of helplessness knowing the fate that awaited matthew, the memories he would hold dear, the small and tender moments that he shared with matthew that would always burn a gaping hole in his chest. a gaping hole that would never be filled again once sunset had descended upon the day, dulling the skies and greying the clouds - turning the night sky where they would be alive ready to fight demons, to protect each other, to a night they would remember as their greatest failure and loss. the loss of a son, the loss of a child; a child who deserved more in life then what then what such a cruel life could’ve ever given him.

it eventually came to the time of the ceremony, as reluctant as they were, tessa and will would not allow james to watch the horrifying scenes his parabatai was enduring, the sight of matthew in such pain, tessa’s blood boiled yet her skin turned cold, cold to touch, cold to imagine. If they had to and they did, they dragged james kicking with all his force and screaming at the top of his lungs, from the room of the ceremony. the begging of matthew’s name, begging for him to come back, repeated like a mantra, only this one was laced with such agony even angels would not bear to watch the scene. the scratched out voice of james, the ache in his throat from this screams, the screams of pain not only that he felt but what matthew felt. james might say he was selfish for feeling the way he did - lost and in pain he was unable to describe it exactly - receiving comfort from his beloved mother and father whilst matthew was screaming in agony. but the others who looked upon him only knew that the pain he felt now would only lapse into something worse. the only thing that frightened people more than james’s tormented state was the pleads and cries for help from matthew, each plea screamed from him began to sound more like a terrified child then an almost 18 year old shadowhunter - who was wronged by the very elders who should’ve protected him.

the pain each rune stripped from him was worse than the last, a burning fire igniting across his skin, but the only thought, the only fear evident on matthew’s face was the fear of the parabatai rune being torn from him. the very rune that brought him comfort, brought him some semblance of life and happiness - reminding him of one of the few things he held dear and would protect with every breath. james. well he’s done just that, he protected his friends an family, made sure that none of them had to endure what he was facing, the one shred of ease and sureness that crept up on him, bringing matthew his comfort in this hour, that everyone else was safe..even if he was not. if only these thoughts could protect him physically from the excruciating pain he felt; but it didn’t.

sounds of broken screams echoed throughout the hallways, filling cracks and crevices within the ageless silent city. tormented screams and muffled crying was all that hung within the atmosphere, the indistinct sound of james as his knees collided with the harsh ground, the cries that reverberated throughout the room as he beseeched his parents to help matthew, the burning sensation, the aching that spread across his shoulder flared into something indescribable. james had remembered what he said about his parabatai rune, he could always count on matthew to have his back and the funny part, the bitter ironic fact, that caused james to scoff so harshly, was that in the end he couldn’t be there for matthew. even after everything they’d been through, the fights and the arguments, the battles and the scars, he couldn’t protect matthew. but the pain, it wasn’t pain no longer it was anger, hatred that ran so cold within james veins, he imagined himself losing his mind. probably because he had half lost his own soul, his own life, existence, disappearing within minutes and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. he wished this was something he could reach out and grab by his hands and hold on for as long as he could, relying on that bond as his source of security, his sanity and his home.

will and tessa could only kneel by james, the latter holding onto him so tightly she was scared she’d loose him too, not to the rune stripping but to her sons own sanity his own mental well being, she had witnessed will’s demeanour, how he had become more solem and quiet after his own bond was severed, torn apart like it was never there but the feeling lingered like a black cloud shrouding his soul of the memory of the happiness that once laid there. she remembered the days where she would watch as will would turn to his side, half expecting - like a routine - to find jem by his side so he could share his ridiculous jokes. to see this happening all over again, with her own son, was traumatising, she couldn’t bare to see any of the children in pain, but the bygone, detached stare james held engraved itself in her memory.

for matthew, the ceremony itself had lasted hours longer than what the others sitting in the room had imagined. through the bleary, clouded eyes he could make out lucie, lucie herondale, sat there so still she resembled a statue herself, the pale complexion highlighting the streams of reflective water that travelled their way down her cheeks. lucie oh so clever and lovely, lucie a comfort for him, lucie the chatterbox who had such a big heart who didn’t leave him, she had refused, threatened matthew’s own mother that she wouldn’t leave him alone, alone in a room full of arrogance and ignorance.

it wasn’t until he noticed the beautiful red haired girl with a kind smile and attentive black abyss eyes. cordelia who had just been dampening under her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. of course they were sitting together. cordelia and lucie, parabatai themselves, if matthew and the family couldn’t bear to have james in the room so see this event then lucie and cordelia would be there to provide comfort - two people matthew deemed too important to want to ever loose. yet that was happening. cordelia murdered silent prayers; of course the girls wouldn’t leave, they couldn’t leave him - not ever - not in this state. so lucie sat there gazing, though her gaze was more withdrawn even as she smiled, a small smile that gave matthew the reassurance that he was not alone, he never was and never will be. he could see the trembling of her hands shaking with such intensity. all the while cordelia grasped lucie’s trembling hands with her own lacing their fingers together to tell each other lies on how everything would be fine and would go back to normal. there cordelia sat masking a fake gentle smile, for the girls knew that it would be a lie to say it was going to be okay, lucie turned her head away from matthew as cordelia and himself locked eyes, some would dare to say they had their own unspoken goodbye. a goodbye said without words, just that final graceful pull of her lips as matthew closed his eyes and prayed silently, to whoever wanted to listen to his prayer, to anyone who would protect cordelia, lucie, james, his mother and father and everyone else he held dear to him - from thomas to anna to christopher - to watch over them and keep them safe - to never let what was happening to him happen to any of them, ever. and as his eyes slowly opened back up to the dim lit room, he gazed at lucie and mouthed the words ‘i’m sorry’.

two people sat in the audience that day, one a silent brother himself who had been specifically told by matthew not to join in the ceremony, jem. matthew had refused, with every fiber of his being and every last breath he could muster up to scream at him, that he was not to join in, it would only break jems heart. it was in that moment that it took for jem to realise that matthew not only valued but loved too much, his family, to ever see them go through what he did, to live through what he had to undergo. to even join in on the ceremony, jem had only wanted to participate to ease matthew to remind him he had family, to be a person matthew could hold onto, a hand he could squeeze to help dull the pain in any way. but matthew wouldn’t allow it. so magnus had sat with jem, staring at the young boy unable to look away. the memory of this scene would forever be okay on the back of both their minds, a nightmare that would never leave, a plague that would stay with them till the day they passed themselves. that was the day that magnus witnessed what people really are capable of, the torture they were willing to inflict upon an innocent boy, the outdated laws reserved only to torture the purest of hearts and break the kindest of souls. to watch a boy with so much ahead of him in life, a life that could’ve been filled with laughter and joy, stripped away from him in a few moments, the idea of ever having anything or being able to see anyone he loved stripped away, washed away from shore, disappearing into the horizon, sinking to the bottom of the ocean like it had never existed.


End file.
